


Secret Santa

by Constance



Category: Life on Mars
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-26
Updated: 2011-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Constance/pseuds/Constance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Armed Bastards Christmas Exchange 2008 to the prompt 'Sam/Gene, Christmas party, morning after'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Santa

A pained groan woke Sam on Christmas morning. He opened one eye, wide enough to take in the desk he'd passed out on and promptly decided life wasn't really worth being conscious for. The sound of vomiting lulled him back to sleep.

The second time, somewhat later in the day, he tried the other eye. It was every bit as bad. But the finger jabbing into the side of his head was persistent and more painful than the monstrosity in front of his face, neither showing the least consideration for his hangover.

"Ty-ler."

"Oh God."

"Wakey wakey."

"No." Faced with a rendering of Michelangelo's David in burnt orange plaster, it seemed a reasonable response. "Go 'way. 'S'll a terrible dream."

The statuette danced closer, propelled by Gene's hand. The one that wasn't jostling Sam's bruised and foggy brain.

"Told you so," Gene sing-songed. "This is what you get for not listening to me."

"'s horrible."

"Could be worse. Least yours has booze in it." Gene popped the head off the statue, revealing the cunningly concealed bottle inside. "Had booze in it," he amended.

"It's hideous. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but it's actually uglier now I'm sober."

"Look right at home in your flat. Might come in handy."

"In case the wallpaper isn't enough to remind me what decade it is?"

"Brought it all on yourself." The jabbing finger gave up. Gene seized a fistful of Sam's short hair and lifted his head off the desk. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'm sorry." Both eyes open and the statue got no less grotesque when Sam got it into focus. "A secret Santa was a terrible idea, happy now? I'll never override you again. Just make it go away."

"How long have you been here now? And you can't figure out that encouraging this bunch of tossers to do something anonymously might not be the best of ideas."

"We used to do it every year in... Hyde."

Gene's disdainful grunt comprehensively summed up his feelings for Hyde. "We're all too bloody old for Christmas presents."

"I said I was sorry."

"Tell that to Annie and her crotchless panties."

Sam wrenched his head free to glare at Gene. "Don't think I don't know that was you. With that kind of example-"

"Nuh-uh. We're talking about how I'm right, remember? Try again. 'Guv, I acknowledge that forcing grown men to give each other Christmas presents was the stupidest idea I've had. This week. I'm lucky no-one was maimed, and in future I shall rely on your considered opinion.' There. I’ve even put it into Hyde-speak for you."

"It's Christmas! You'd think, just once, people would get into the spirit and-"

"And now you know better."

"Oh go torture Chris."

"Can't. His Mum picked him up half an hour ago. Took him home for dinner. Said today was some kind of special occasion."

"Merry Christmas. Now bugger off."

Sam's head hit the desk again. Gene resumed his prodding. "Tetchy. No-one made you drink yourself into a stupor, you know."

"You did so! You said it was my stupid idea to have a Christmas party and I could damn well stay until the booze ran out."

"Well I was right, wasn't I? It was your stupid idea."

Sam fended off Gene's hand and decided indignation was more pain than it was worth. "Please go away."

"Not a chance. Even a miserable little bastard like you isn't spending Christmas day at your desk. Now get shifting. I want me dinner."

"I'm not making you dinner."

"Too bloody right you're not. You coming?"

"I... uh, what?"

"Christmas dinner. You. Up. Moving. The wife'll have a fit if we're not there soon."

"Wife?"

"The person who cooks Christmas dinner," Gene clarified slowly. "Nice line in stuffing. Mean right hook."

"She's real?"

Sam's jacket stood up and he had no choice but to follow. The world wobbled when Gene released him.

"'Course she's real, you nutter. Her and her sister and more nieces than you can shake a stick at, as you're about to find out. Any talk about how we're all figments of your imagination at the dinner table and I'll be setting fire to you right along with the Christmas pudding. Got it?"

"Uh..."

"Yes Guv," Gene prompted.

"Yes Guv."

And because it was Christmas, time of mercy and forgiveness, Gene dropped Sam's secret Santa gift into the bin on the way out.


End file.
